Welcome me into the Third Millenium. After 30 years, I finally got television-
cable service hooked up at my house. It
took them thirty years to come down to a reasonable price. I will miss the fun I used to have with the
Dish TV and Satellite guys at their table displays in the Big Box stores. When they’d ask me how my cable provider is
working for me. I used to say: “They’re not because I don’t have cable. Do the math:
multiply what I’m saving per month, times 12 months, times 30
years.” Well, it’s not that I saved
money; really my budget just re-directed it elsewhere.
I also remember the era of shopping for landline phone
service. Back in the day, we’d switch
from AT&T, then to Sprint, then finally to USA Datanet. And the latter drove my long distance bills
right down to a do-able cost.
Ultimately, everyone realized they could do better and now everything is
rolled-in or bundled or whatever we are calling that kind of extortion now. It seemed like only yesterday that my
grandmother would say to me, “Call me from College and just reverse the
charges.” This generation would not even
know what that language means.
So here I am, probably the last of the dinosaurs to jump on
board with television. Yet after 30
years of not having one I find it very funny that I can’t fit watching programs into my schedule. I have gotten so used to yard work, reading
books, washing dogs, etc. that I might just have to plan when to watch “the tube.”
My mother asked me the other night how I was enjoying
television. It’s only been activated for
one week. I had managed to see one
program. I winced for most of it. It was on the network – which shall remain
nameless – that is known for programming that casts men in the worst possible
light. I was only watching it because
the story line was intriguing to me. The
main character was a woman who found herself in Belgrade as an expert in using
computer hacking to the service of Good,
when her daughter and friend were kidnapped in a nightclub. Of course, the intent was that they would be
forced into an Off-shore prostitution ring that specialized in providing
American girls. The police chief that
offered help was actually covering up for the bad guys, of course. The renegade private investigator that came
to her help enlightened her: there are
two ways to survive in the Force - #1) you turn a blind eye; or #2) you become
part of the corruption. I have to say
that although the story line was intriguing, when it was all over I didn’t feel
good about men, cops, or Belgrade.
Frankly, in my Real Life, where I lived a week ago before the box got
juiced by cables, I liked all three.
I’ve been to Belgrade in 1988 and found the city exciting and welcoming. I generally think men are decent, with the
exception of one or two. And, I am a
shameless supporter of the good men in blue as well. So, um, yeah, my first foray into the world
of the tube wasn’t what it could have been.
It was only loosely connected to my reality.
Saturday night I tried again. After delivering groceries to two customers
in the late morning, and then working in my yard doing what I consider hard
labor for about three hours, I thought I could unwind before I crashed. Nope.
I crashed in the middle of Tom Selleck’s current show. And if you can fall asleep watching Tom
Selleck, you should not be watching
television at all, you should be lights-out in your bed with the dogs.
Last night I thought it would be fun to watch a realtor help
a few people who wanted to buy a house at the beach. At least THAT was something I could relate to
quite readily. When he asked the couple
what their budget was, they fidgeted a bit –
the guy squeezed the girl’s hand for assurance – “Oh, say, five hundred
twenty five thousand…” I believe I
surprised my dogs with the profanity that came out of my mouth. It roughly translated to: “Are you kidding me?” The only thing Real about that episode was
the way the realtor responded: he went
ahead and booked them to look at a house that was TEN GRAND MORE THAN THEIR
BUDGET. That, my friends, is Real
Life.
They walked through the house on the beach and said, “wow,
what a view!” followed by, “it’s kind of small, though.” With 1400 square feet of space that
apparently was tall, but not wide, there were no visible closets. I don’t know what their issue was. I always look for closets. I look for a sump pump. I look for evidence of termites. I check the color of the water that comes out
of the faucets. And I can absolutely
assure you that if I look up and see bamboo paddle fans, I am NOT going to be
as excited about it as that guy got. How
weird?!
Then the realtor took them to look at the house that was a
cumbersome fifteen minute drive from the beach.
Really. And it was in their price
range, heaven bless them. And it was only
4000 square feet. They had the chance to
ask the owner why he was selling and he said he wanted to just take a parcel of
the back property and build there for himself.
Right then and there I would have said, NO WAY. Who would want the pressure of the former
owner looking to see if you kept up the shrubs to his specs or stopping by to
borrow a cup of sugar so he could see if your furniture came from a designer like
his or not? Look, I forward mail to the
people I bought from six years ago and all I can think of when I write their
address is, “How the heck did she keep this kitchen floor clean?! Everything tracks into here” and “They should
have put on the disclosure sheet that dusting weekly was necessary, especially
after the farms down the street shredded the debris from corn.”
If anything the couples looking at homes on that program
were so far from My Reality, they may as well have been from Mars. It left me kind of sad. I don’t want what they have. I just loved looking at the homes on the beach
and am sorry that real estate markets have made it so difficult to own a piece
of heaven. Eh, what can you do?
Do you wonder what I am watching tonight? I’ll probably be starring in my own reality
show: Bathing Spaniels and Cutting
Hedges. I cannot tell you which will be
more exciting or fulfilling to me. But I
can say that I won’t be falling asleep in the middle of either of those
activities. I wonder when the
non-contract runs out in eleven months if I will still keep the cable service,
or will I jettison them and go back to crocheting and watching the snow
fall? As they say, “Stay tuned.”
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